"There are certain themes of which the interest is all-absorbing, but which are too entirely horrible for the purposes of legitimate fiction." - Edgar Allan Poe
Ch.11 Entirely Horrible For The Purposes of Legitimate Fiction
If ever there was a time when his soul felt calm, Beetlejuice couldn't remember. The notion was absurd to him in so many ways. Yet he found glimpses of that peace when he entertained and amused Lydia from childhood on into adulthood.
She became a beacon for him — a way to light where his damned soul never belonged.
Lydia, the living embodiment of what he could never have, a calm stone in the sea as she often referred to herself. He was far too manic for such a personality trait.
Yet, as he lay on the sofa in her living room with the breathing body of the girl turned woman on him, naked and satiated, he couldn't help but acknowledge that he finally achieved a true moment of peace. He connected with the mortal entity, the other half of his pact.
By all rights of Afterlife Corporal Spiritual Union, she was his. He was hesitant, however, to bring up the subject for fear, she would take it all back. He didn't think he could remain in existence if she chose to take back the last hour of relentless fucking.
With a hum, the beauty covered in the red streaks of her enemies blood lifted her head and gave him a lazy smile.
"You have no idea how long I have waited for this, Beetlejuice." She spoke with such adoration in her voice that he near melted on the spot.
"You have no idea how long I've been holding back," His grin was lopsided. A goofy sort of expression that just didn't fit on someone capable of committing crimes involving life and death.
Her annoyed expression prompted a low chuckle from deep inside. "Never expected ya to be such a wild cat in the sac, Babes. Be Careful. Bringing out the demon in me is a dangerous game. There's only so much of a warning you'll get when you mess with this ghost."
Her gaze narrowed, growing sultry as her foot slid up his ankle to his calf.
"I know what I'm getting into, Beej. Maybe you should be more afraid of me."
Beej arched his eyebrow at her, "What are you getting at there?"
"Oh, nothing." She teased while she pushed herself up off his body. Narrowly escaping his grasp when he reached for her. A delighted laugh escaped her the moment he slipped off the sofa.
He was about to curse at her, but then she bent over and picked up her copy of the Handbook that had fallen to the floor. His eyes devoured the sight.
Lydia ignored the hungry expression on Beej's face. She took in the wreckage they wrought in her living room, only sparing a glance at Claire's lifeless body. A slightly amused smile curved at her lips before tapping them thoughtfully.
"You know, I learned something about Claire at the New Years party." She said lightly. His sour expression didn't go unnoticed though she chose to stay silent on that subject. She had a feeling as to what prompted his mood to change.
"Oh yeah?" He grumbled. "Did it have to do with her nose powdering habits?"
Lydia's grin grew. "That's one way to put it."
Beetlejuice righted himself before over dramatically stretching his nude body. Lydia gave him a thorough examination followed by an approving nod when he questioned her actions with one raise of an eyebrow.
"Yeah, well. Some kids don't hide their secrets very well." He floated off his feet over to his Babes. His hands gripped her hips firmly. "Little miss snooty, has been a baaaaaaad girl."
"Oh? Was that an interest I sense?" She challenged. "You have always had a thing for the bad ones if I remember correctly."
"Shit," he shook his head, "Yer one ta talk."
Another giggle erupted from her before she knelt beside the body most likely annoying Beej when he was forced to release her body. Her expression grew thoughtful while she lifted the strands of blonde hair away from the bronzed and overly-tanned dead face.
"It's funny. I always thought that I was against violence. I mean, look at all the times I stopped you from juicing her."
Beej watched while she trailed her hands across the dead girl's face.
"Don't tell me you are feeling sorry for the little skank."
"No," she spoke gently and removed her hand. "I don't. I think I like her better this way."
He cackled, "Yeah, for once I don't have to listen to her talk. 'Like, as if, I'm totally going to miss being a Mondo Bitch.' "
Lydia rolled her eyes and stood up. "I'm gonna clean up. You could always join me."
Scoffing, Beetlejuice's body shuddered in horror. "To hell with that. You go. I'm gonna see what kinda damage I can do to make Claire Bitch-ster look like a suicide."
With a shrug, Lydia left him to it and turned her thoughts to cleaning off the sticky sensation in and on her body.
—
There were perks to being the second in command to the towns most popular girl. The way people would move out of your way so you could pass, the lack of suspicion when you walked into areas reserved for VIP's and even the Tab. Monica loved the Tab.
She could shop and not have to worry about paying for anything since it would go on Claire Brewster's account. It was simply that Claire never checked her purchases, nor did her parents for that matter.
Monica purchased a couple of things in Claire's size and a few in her own. After all, who would care? The Brewsters had so much money that it didn't really matter what she purchased as long as it wasn't a boat or something equally ridiculous.
For Christ's sake, the damn family had forked over a near mil for those ugly sculptures that the late Mrs. Deetz had created. Mrs. Brewster even had them coated in weatherproofed liquid latex to preserve the monstrosities and then displayed them around the gardens.
The worst of it all was the spiky grotesque cluster fuck they put in front of the mansion. Like, really? That thing belonged in a furnace.
Monica tried her best to avoid looking at it when she arrived at the Brewster Mansion to visit Claire. Only this time she couldn't avoid it.
Carefully approaching the horrific shape, her jaw fell agape. Her mind did not want to process what she saw because it wasn't, like, fucking possible…
Yet there she was, on top of the sharp points of the sculpture. Claire's blood-drained body skewered with two spikes through her torso and one extra jabbed straight through the side of her neck nearly decapitating the beautiful heiress.
A slow drip of coagulated blood oozed down the slanted edges of the design as Monica dropped the bags from her latest shopping spree and screamed.
Taking Claire's body down was a nightmare. When they arrived at the scene, Bertha couldn't take the sight of it and promptly puked up her breakfast. Allen, on the other hand, walked closer to the distorted figure of the dead girl. Had he been anyone other than himself, his stomach would have ached and turned when he saw the raw, exposed flesh of her neck. Instead, he eyed the scene with a careful eye, knowing full well that the body will be scrutinized with a fine-tooth comb by the little medical examiner.
Prudence was told to prepare the morgue while the forensic team extracted the corpse, preferably as intact as possible.
They didn't even wait for the Brewster's to return home from their trip to begin the process of investigation, though the word was sent to the older couple of their daughter's accident.
From what the distraught girl who discovered the scene had told the officials, Claire was no stranger to drugs; an overdose would be a less gruesome scene. She didn't have suicidal tendencies as far as anyone knew, and the dead girl was in between relationships.
Accidental. That was what he overheard. That and no other option fit this disaster.
Allen didn't like it. Something was wrong about this entire scene, and it had very little to do with the logistics of physical proximity from the mansion roof to the sculpture.
Once the body was taken to the morgue for further investigation, Bertha and Allen decided that they needed to recoup and perhaps call it a day. Though mostly it was for Bertha's sake. Allen's didn't think it would be right to let her suffer on her own. It felt like the right thing to do. Something a caring and supportive friend would go out of their way for, should their comrade in arms need assistance.
While Bertha shook, drinking her coffee and sobbing between sips, he awkwardly patted her back.
"Thanks," She muttered, knowing full well he was putting on a front. "You don't have to do that if it makes you uncomfortable. I'll be fine."
She was not blind to his apathy. Training at the academy and in her studies back at Miss Shannon's had prepared her to identify personalities. Bertha had a thing for people and what made them tick. It's also why she felt like a master in the art of matchmaking. Too bad it never worked for her benefit.
Allen didn't believe her statement of being "fine" for a moment, but he was grateful to take his hand off her shoulder.
"I'm gonna make a call." He spoke cautiously as he stood up. "I'll be right back."
Bertha sniffled and nodded. "Yeah, it's just …. Nevermind. The whole thing is a mess."
Nodding, Allen continued to glance back at his partner as he approached the waitress behind the dinner counter. She pointed him in the direction of a payphone when he asked.
Another sniffle and Bertha wiped her eyes with her sleeve. There was no love lost between her and Claire Brewster. Like many in their year, she hated the girl, but this wasn't something she wished on her worst enemy, and Claire WAS her worst enemy.
This was some kind of sick, twisted joke. She wondered how Prudence was going to manage to do the autopsy on this case. Bertha couldn't even watch as the forensics team took down the body.
Rattled, shaken… use any word that you could think of that would set a person in a state of unease forever while giving that person nightmares. Any word at all, and that would have described how Bertha was feeling.
The new year was turning out to be just as horrible as the last.
With a tingling of the bell, the door to the diner opened. Looking up, Bertha saw Lydia, who was dressed in an unusual fur-lined cloak, enter and remove her hood.
If Bertha didn't know better, she would have thought Lydia could raise the dead with how happy she looked. The flush to her face seemed unnatural for someone grieving their parents.
"Lydia?" Bertha questioned.
"Oh! Bertha, I didn't see you there. Are… are you alright?" The cheery expression faltered and fell into concern.
"Uh… No. Not really," she admitted as Lydia made her way to the booth and sat down next to her. In an offer of comfort, Lydia gathered her arms around the downtrodden Officer.
"That bad?" Lydia asked. Her voice was off, but not exactly worried. Curious, perhaps? Excited? Possibly.
Bertha blinked away her tears and shook her head. "Worse."
Before any words of explanation could be made, Allen rejoined the two.
"Lydia? I'm surprised... I mean," He let out an uneasy chuckle. "It's good to see you."
A wry smile curled at Lydia's lips, "It's good to see you too."
Bertha's eyes darted between the two of them. No amount of distress or upset would ever disrupt her keen sense of intrigue. Her matchmaking senses tingled once again as she watched her partner's expression.
"So, what brings you out," he blanched at the implication of her reclusive nature, "… here?" He added quickly, mentally cursing himself.
Lydia laughed, a blush of her own began to rise as she waved a hand to deflect attention. "I'm just picking up an order I called in."
"Why not eat here with us?" Allen offered.
"What, and distract the Officers on duty?"
"Actually, Lydia." Bertha interrupted. "We had the morning shift, and this is technically downtime."
"I called the precinct to request that our shift end. You are not capable of continuing today." Allen gave Bertha a shrug. It was another thing a friend would do, at least he assumed.
Lydia noticed the bemused, turned surprised expression on her friend's face and gave a laugh. "I will have to take a rain check. Maybe we can all meet up when Prudence finishes with her shift at the morgue?"
The mood shifted back to the uneasy tension that Lydia had felt when she first came into the diner. She sensed it instantly and gave the two a quizzical expression. Bertha darted her gaze between her partner and best friend.
"S-She won't be able to come. There," she sighed and steadied herself. "There was another accident."
Lydia's expression went blank, bracing herself for what was to come. Allen zeroed in on her reaction, uncertain if the news would disturb her further in the wake of so much tragedy in her young life.
"Claire's dead." Bertha blurted out.
Stiff shoulders slumped into relaxation, and Lydia let out a breath. "Oh. For a second, I thought that something happened to Prudence. You nearly gave me a heart attack."
A ding of a cafe bell rang, and Lydia turned her attention to the counter, watching the waitress load the takeout boxes into a plastic bag.
Allen and Bertha were thrown off guard by Lydia's response.
"That's my order. I should get going before the snow kicks up. Did you hear that we are getting another storm?" She gave Bertha's back a quick rub and stood up.
"Lydia? You did hear what I just said right?" Bertha cried out. Her tone boarding on incredulous.
Slowly, Lydia turned to face them. She adjusted her cloak, smiling as one would to a kid who had the wrong answers to a test and just didn't understand why they got a bad grade.
"I heard. I can't say that I'm sorry for it." The ding rang again, and Lydia gave the waitress an apologetic nod. "I really gotta get going. Beej is waiting for me."
"He's still at your house?" Allen asked, thoroughly disapproving of the thought.
Lydia's wry smile returned when she took the bag of carryout trays from the waitress. "You didn't expect me to eat all of this by myself, did you?"
Neither he nor Bertha had a response to that, as they watched the strange and unusual woman leave the dinner.